


Monument of Memory

by Suzelle



Series: Blades and Bucklers [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, Gen, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Louis I Think This Is the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Lavellan (Dragon Age), Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, Pre-Relationship, Redcliffe (Dragon Age), minor wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle
Summary: She’d endured countless nightmares since being tossed out of the Fade, of demons and blood and traces of the Conclave, bits and pieces of memory hovering just out of reach. But they hadn’t evoked terror, really, just ordinary fear and sorrow at the suffering she’d witnessed during her time among the Inquisition. The nightmare of Alexius’s future gripped her with a panic she’d never known, red lyrium bursting out of her skin, trapping her so that she could not run.In the aftermath of the events at Redcliffe Castle, Lavellan contends with Cassandra's displeasure and finds comfort from an unexpected source.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor & Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus, Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Female Lavellan & Dorian Pavus, Female Lavellan/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Blades and Bucklers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914196
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Monument of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Once again featuring Shohreh Lavellan, disaster warrior Dalish. With thanks to Salvage for the beta.

Cassandra did not speak a word to her on the walk back from Redcliffe Castle, her stiff gait conveying her displeasure, her promise to discuss matters later enough to tip Shohreh over the edge into trembling apprehension. She struggled to draw breath, her chest aching beyond reason, but they could get to a healer down in the village. Stupid, she’d been so stupid to leave herself open to Alexius’s blow... 

Dorian walked beside her, his strange half-cloak flapping in the brisk wind, and he glanced at her in mild concern. “Are you quite all right? We _did_ just watch three of your friends get killed.”

She smiled at him ruefully. “And one of yours.”

Dorian’s face darkened. “I could barely even recognize him. He lives for now, and he’s accepted his death more readily than any of us.”

She nodded. She would be haunted by Leliana’s wasted face forever, but Cassandra’s very alive grumblings ahead of them steadied her. “I’m just tired. You Tevinter mages really know how to knock an elf down.” 

“Years of history, I’m afraid.” Dorian gave her another charming smile that did not quite hide his discomfort. “You’re…Dalish, aren’t you? Is that the correct word here?”

Shohreh raised her eyebrows. “It’s the correct word everywhere.”

“We…don’t have Dalish clans coming northward. For obvious reasons. So I’ve never met one of your people before, although I’ve heard about them. A little.”

Shohreh regarded him with some curiosity, his discomfort more obvious now. 

“I hope this won't be an issue between us. I am here to help you with the Venatori, after all.”

Shohreh shook her head. He had already proven his intentions, multiple times over, and if she hated those descended from her people’s oppressors she’d have to hate the whole world. Besides, she imagined it took great conviction to go against his fellow countrymen. “No need to dredge up the past, is there?”

He smiled again, this time in relief. “No need whatsoever.” 

They sky darkened above them as they walked, matching her overall mood, and by the time they reached the village a fine rain drizzled down on them, pattering against her mail and setting Varric off on a tirade about traveling through mud. Homesickness gripped Shohreh with sudden, unexpected intensity, a longing for the snug, dry comforts of an aravel rather than the leaking canvas tents that awaited them that evening. Her throat grew tight, and she chided herself for falling prey to nostalgia. There was no going back to Clan Lavellan, if she’d ever truly held a place there at all. 

“Wonderful,” Dorian proclaimed. “The South continues to show off its charms. Let’s hope there’s room in that wretched inn.”

Shohreh snorted. “For a Tevinter, you’re acting awfully Orlesian about this place. So conceited when it comes to the sights.”

Dorian sputtered in indignation, though Shohreh caught a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You know you look entirely too sweet and innocent to deliver such a cutting insult.”

Shohreh grinned at him. “That’s the point.” 

***

Varric and Cassandra entered into a brief argument about making camp that ended with Varric putting down his own coin for rooms at the Gull and Lantern, a “well-deserved and dry” luxury before beginning the journey back to Haven. Shohreh went straight up to the room she’d share with Cassandra, with little appetite for whatever greasy Fereldan supper they’d have in the tavern. Raucous laughter echoed up from the downstairs into her room as she removed her boots and outer armor, hissing in pain when she moved her upper arms, and she settled carefully into the bed, tempted beyond reason to go straight to sleep. 

But she lay in a painful half-doze, unable to banish the horrifying images of the future they’d stepped in and out of so easily. The rank fear that overwhelmed her at the prospect of being trapped there forever still pulsed through her, and her breath came in slow, shaking gasps. She jumped nearly out of her skin when the door to the room banged open, Cassandra barging in in her usual strident manner. She softened her gaze slightly at the sight of Shohreh on the bed, but Shohreh sat up gingerly, swinging her legs around so her toes just brushed the floor. They might as well get this over with.

Cassandra paced back and forth, hand held to her temples as if she had a headache. Several times she started to say something, but closed her mouth before words could escape it. 

“You think it’s a bad idea,” Shohreh said quietly. “You can say it.”

“Of course I think it’s a bad idea!” Cassandra burst out. “They tied themselves to a damned Tevinter magister, proving precisely why they can’t be trusted with their own power. And you offer an alliance? What were you thinking?”

“That conscription sounds an awful lot like what led them to rebel in the first place.” Shohreh kept her voice very soft. “That a willing soldier fights far better than an unwilling one. Do you disagree?”

Cassandra hesitated for only a moment. “Of course I don’t. But to give them free reign of Haven, so close to the Breach…”

“Desperation drives people to do things they’d never dreamed. I could tell you things about my clan that would horrify you, things they’d never have done if _shem—_ ” she stopped. She’d promised herself to stop using that word in front of Cassandra. And she had no desire to offer up information on her clan.

“Offer them trust first,” she said at last. “They deserve a chance to prove themselves.”

Cassandra still looked unhappy, but she gave a curt nod in acceptance. Shohreh forced herself to her feet, figuring she might as well finish undressing, and hissed again when she bent over her pack to retrieve a fresh tunic. She winced as she straightened, steeling herself when she removed her shirt. She breathed out in relief when it came off, the pain starting to abate, but Cassandra inhaled sharply when she turned around.

“Maker’s breath. Who did this?” Cassandra stepped forward, and Shohreh glanced down at her chest. A horrendously dark, purpling bruise spread out from her sternum, a coin-sized burn placed in the middle.

“Ah. That would have been Alexius.” The bruising disappeared beneath her breastband, and Shohreh grabbed quickly for her tunic. “It was stupid, I--”

A violent cough wrenched through her, air scraping raw against her lungs. Cassandra laid a hand on her shoulder when she doubled over, but she jerked away, too sensitive to be touched. She stepped backward to collapse onto the bed, curling in on her side as the coughing subsided, too drained to look for the healing potion and elfroot still in her pack. Cassandra disappeared out the door, returning some minutes later with a tiny bottle in one hand and a jar of bruise balm in the other. Reluctantly, Shohreh swallowed the bitter potion and allowed Cassandra to apply the ointment, biting her lip against the sting. It smelled truly foul, somewhere between raw iron and sludge, but it cooled the flaming ache across her skin, and she breathed a bit easier.

Cassandra kept her seat beside her on the bed, care and concern etched into her features. “I’m sorry. You stumble out of a rift covered in blood and the first thing I do is argue with you.”

“To be fair, I’m usually covered in blood when we argue,” Shohreh said, her voice weak. Cassandra chuckled, but then seriousness overtook her once more and she studied Shohreh, her gaze uncomfortably piercing.

“What happened, in that future?” she asked softly.

Shohreh looked down at her hands, knitting them tight until her knuckles bumped against each other. 

“I’ll write up a report in the morning. I can’t…the Breach spread everywhere, red lyrium growing out of people’s skin. It poisoned you, Varric, Leliana…” She shuddered. “All of you died to save us. I won’t…I thought I knew what was at stake here. But now I’ve _seen_.”

She looked up to face Cassandra, who watched her with wide eyes. “I will not rest until we defeat this Elder One. If I thought for a moment the mages could cost us victory, I would not have allied with them. Believe that of me, please.”

Cassandra grasped her shoulder, her grip gentle yet firm. “I do.”

Shohreh nodded, her throat tight. “Thank you.”

Cassandra nodded, sparing one more inscrutable glance at Shohreh, before she rose to feet and began preparing for bed. Shohreh watched her as she removed and carefully tended to her armor, the movements somehow different in then when they were stumbling around in a darkened tent. Shohreh’s more reserved nature still won out in the presence of the formidable Seeker, but she somehow felt most comfortable around her at day’s end, when they had no choice but to make space for each other under leaking canvas ceilings. She thought of poor Varric, stuck with Solas or, on one horrifying occasion, the Iron Bull, and thought she got the much better end of the deal.

Cassandra blew out the lamp on the room’s tiny end table and settled into the other side of the bed. Shohreh closed her eyes the moment darkness descended, drowsiness finally beginning to overtake her, when she heard a mild chuckle beside her. 

“Don’t tell Varric,” Cassandra said, “but I’m glad he insisted on this. It's a comfort well deserved.”

“I thought comfort didn’t matter to the Seekers,” Shohreh murmured, her eyes still closed. 

“It does not _matter_ , not really. But I will take it when offered. Even I am capable of fun, difficult as it is to believe.” 

“Not so difficult.” Lulled by Cassandra’s voice, Shohreh found herself halfway asleep and mumbling into her pillow. “I won’t tell Varric that, either.”

She imagined she felt a hand on her forehead, brushing her hair back from her face, but it was probably just her dreams already, a longing to be cared for as she stood against the Breach, terribly alone. “Sleep, Herald. You need it more than any of us.” 

***

She’d endured countless nightmares since being tossed out of the Fade, of demons and blood and traces of the Conclave, bits and pieces of memory hovering just out of reach. But they hadn’t evoked terror, really, just ordinary fear and sorrow at the suffering she’d witnessed during her time among the Inquisition. The nightmare of Alexius’s future gripped her with a panic she’d never known, red lyrium bursting out of her skin, trapping her so that she could not run. Fade rifts surrounded her in endless, multiplying forms, demons tearing Cassandra and Varric apart limb by limb, and she could only watch as lyrium forced itself into her mouth and down her throat, choking her—

She bolted upright in bed with a sharp gasp, tangled in sweat-drenched sheets. Cassandra stirred beside her in her sleep, and Shohreh held a hand to her mouth to keep her shuddering gasps from waking the Seeker. She could not seem to draw breath, and she somehow stumbled out of bed to the door, doubled over in the hallway until she stopped hyperventilating.

After what felt like an eternity, she calmed herself, and sank trembling to the floor. The ointment on her sternum had worn off, the bruises throbbing and warm to the touch. Exhaustion clung to her, but she could not bring herself to return to bed. Eventually she got up and crept downstairs, darkness a comfort after the overwhelming green of her dreams. The tavern was deserted, and she opened the door as quietly as she could before she stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but fog blanketed the village, the lights from the docks barely piercing the gloom. She crossed the road to the stone outlook over the docks, where a man’s shape slowly took form, arms folded as he stared out at the lake. 

Dorian turned to regard her, his handsome features mired in exhaustion. “Ah. I wondered if I might meet you here.”

Shohreh shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Terrible for the humors, this time-traveling business. Awful headache just trying to make sense of it.”

She snorted, his cavalier manner somehow reassuring, and clutched her arms tight against her. “I haven’t properly thanked you, for what you did. If you hadn’t been there with me, I’d be trapped there still. Likely quite dead.”

“Oh, I imagine you’d have figured something out.” Dorian smiled at her. “But we’ve dealt in enough hypotheticals for one day.”

“Indeed,” she muttered, and shivered again. 

“I contemplated drinking myself into a stupor tonight,” he continued amiably, “I’ve earned it, and it certainly would banish any memories that haunted me in the dead of night. I chose to be responsible, for once. Responsible Dorian is a prick.” 

“I hurt too much to drink,” Shohreh grumbled, and a pointed stab shot through her sternum right on cue. She winced, and could not hide the pain on her face when Dorian glanced at her with mild worry.

“May I? I’m not a healer, but perhaps…”

She pulled down the front of her shirt to reveal the bruising and burn, and Dorian tutted in displeasure as he examined it.

“Maker, I know this spell. It’s a cheap shot that he used it on you. Here--” he placed a hand to her ribcage, warmth spreading out from his fingertips, and a great deal more of the pressure on Shohreh’s chest eased. An instinctive, shuddering sigh of relief escaped her, and she could have kissed him from gratitude. 

“That should make any future imbibing much easier. We shall have to reserve a later date for our very well deserved alcohol.”

Shohreh laughed in spite of herself. Something about the man’s nature made her feel an instinctive kinship, very different from the fondness she’d developed for Cassandra and Varric. Perhaps it was simply their status as outsiders, but he seemed to understand her in ways no one in the Inquisition had. “Are you staying, then?”

“I will accompany you back to Haven, at least—provided your cantankerous Seeker allows it. I’d like to be there when judgement is rendered for Alexius.”

His smile had faded, and Shohreh shifted uncomfortably. She knew what it was to go against your loved ones, seeing them transformed into someone barely recognizable. A pang shot through her at the thought of her mother, and she looked up at Dorian, his brown eyes sad.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “None of this could have been easy for you.”

“Right, because it’s easy that you waggle your fingers and Fade magic bursts out of your skin. If I wanted easy, I’d have remained in Tevinter.”

“Fair,” she said, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, serenaded by a melody of crickets and gentle waves lapping against the docks of Lake Calenhad.

“Are you as terrified as I am? Knowing what could happen?”

“Inescapably,” Dorian assured her. “But we’ll stop it, together. I only get saccharine about the things that matter, after all.

“A man after my own heart,” she said with a smile. “Shall we talk only of frivolous matters, then? At least until sunrise?” 

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask.” 


End file.
